


The shock of grief

by Fangirl_Forever



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_Forever/pseuds/Fangirl_Forever
Summary: Thorin has to deal with the moments after finding out a loved one has died.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	The shock of grief

**Author's Note:**

> There is off screen character death but nothing graphic or violent. 
> 
> This is kind of a vent post. My grandma had a stroke Sunday. She's in the hospital recovering with medicine, but I'm trying to prepare myself for the worst. Which turned into writing someone else dealing with a sudden death because it's on my mind.

Thorin knew just by the simple fact that he was still asleep, that it was too early. His alarm hadn’t woken him up, so it was definitely before eight o’clock. Whoever was calling him this early on a Sunday morning was going to wind up dead in a ditch somewhere. His murderous urge grew, his thoughts going from a quick, painless death to torture, when he checked his alarm clock with bleary eyes. Not only was it before eight, on a _Sunday_ morning. It was two in the morning. Running through his mental list of curses, he fumbled for his phone. He grabbed it right as it rung its last ring. He let out an aggravated grunt and rubbed his eyes, holding his phone above his head. Once his eyes were clear, he could read the screen better.

He squinted and shoved Bilbo’s not so helpful reminder that he needed reading glasses out of his head. His father had called him. The sleep still holding onto his body released him immediately and he was sitting up, fully awake, in seconds. His father wouldn’t call him so late unless it was an emergency. The last time he had, it had been to tell him his brother had been hit going for a night ride on his motorcycle. Fear began to work through him quickly, tensing the body that had just moments earlier been relaxed and at ease. Breath stuttering, he unlocked his phone with shaking fingers and hit the “return call” button.

His father answered before the first ring even finished. He’d probably been waiting for Thorin’s call, Thorin thought. He knew how light of a sleeper his son was. “Father?” He used the formal term he was so used to using, trying to let the familiarity ground him. Trying to keep the fear from making his voice shake. When his father didn’t respond, the fear grew and concern slammed into him. Was his father hurt somehow? Had he called him because he couldn’t reach anyone else? He felt like he had whiplash suddenly as his thoughts turned from “Someone has died” to “My father’s hurt”.

“Dad?” The word came out as a croak but he didn’t care. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“Thorin, son.” Thorin’s relief at hearing his father’s voice only lasted a few seconds before he realized his father was fighting back tears. That was a sound he hadn’t heard often. The last two times he had heard it had been when his siblings died. Thorin inhaled sharply as his previous suspicion was as good as confirmed. He swung his legs off the bed and pulled himself up, moving too fast to untangle himself from the blanket. He stumbled over it before kicking it free and rushing to the bathroom. He didn’t hear the sleepy complaint from the smaller figure on the bed, who didn’t appreciate his blankets being ripped away so suddenly.

In the bathroom, Thorin shut the door as quietly as he was able. He leaned against it, his legs wobbling dangerously, and quietly asked, “Who was it?”

There was silence on the other end. It lasted long enough that Thorin actually checked to make sure the phone call hadn’t bene disconnected or ended. Seeing the call was okay, he knew the silence was from his father being unable to speak. Thorin licked his lips and took a shaly breath. His chest felt tight, like the fear was twisting his insides up. He repeated the question in a whisper, then cleared his throat to say it a third time, thinking his father couldn’t have heard him the second time. But his father had. And right as Thorin was taking a breath, his father found his voice. “Your grandmother.”

The phone slipped from Thorin’s fingers. It hit the floor and bounced away, landing screen up. Staring at the selfie he had set as his father’s contact picture, he slid down the door as his legs gave out under him. He landed hard and in the back of his mind he wondered if he’d have a mark or bruise later. But the rest of him was frozen. He could hear his father’s voice, calling his name frantically, before the call suddenly ended. His mind didn’t catch onto what would happen next. It didn’t register that another phone was ringing in the bedroom. A soft voice, grumpy with sleep, was answering. There was a minute of conversation, muffled by the door, that Thorin only partially registered around the haze in his brain. The voices faded and then movement could be heard. Seconds later, the door behind him, that was supporting his weight, opened in towards the bedroom.

Thorin held himself up when he felt gravity pull him backwards. The movement, small though it was, broke through the haze right before a soft hand gently stroked his hair. “Thorin. I’m so sorry.”

He looked over his shoulder and found himself staring into familiar eyes. His husband’s eyes, gleaming with unshed tears behind honey blonde bangs. Bilbo slowly stepped around and knelt by his side. His hand stroked Thorin’s hair methodically, a motion he often used to soothe and comfort him. Thorin leaned his head into the touch a bit, encouraging the hand to get deeper into his thick hair. When he felt fingers massaging his scalp, he felt the tears finally flood in. Closing his eyes tight against them, he choked out, “How?”

Bilbo hesitated for a few seconds, his hand stilling, before he recovered. He had to take a deep breath before he spoke, wanting to make sure he sounded steady. Thorin needed him, he could break down later. “They think a stroke. But they don’t know for sure right now.” He paused, then hesitantly added, “She went in her sleep. No discomfort or pain.”

Thorin nodded once, then wiped his eyes. Keeping them closed, he pulled away from Bilbo’s hand and picked himself up. His husband followed him after he picked up Thorin’s phone. Bilbo set his phone on the sink counter then reached out to him, but his hand was ignored this time. Thorin returned to their bed and sat down carefully, resting his hands on his thighs. Bilbo, having seen this reaction before, knew it was only a matter of time. He sat down beside Thorin and clasped his hands in his lap. A couple minutes passed, with the silence of their bedroom being broken only by Thorin’s quiet sniffles and shaky breathes. Finally, after four minutes according to the clock by the bed, Thorin crumpled.

He fell forward and would have fallen straight to the floor had Bilbo not reacted fast. He hopped to his feet and moved in front of his husband, using his smaller stature to his advantage. He put himself between Thorin’s legs and grabbed his shoulders. Thorin resisted weakly but Bilbo pulled him closer till his head was pressed against his silk pajama shirt. Thorin’s resistance lasted another few seconds before he leaned against his husband. Bilbo was well used to bearing all six feet of Thorin’s weight and was already braced for it. He wrapped his arms around broad shoulders as they began to shake with silent sobs. He stroked whatever bare skin he could reach as a wet spot steadily grew on his chest. Thorin grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and pressed his face hard into Bilbo’s chest. Times like this made the smaller man glad he was a little chubby, because he knew from experience that trying to hide in hard muscles was not comfortable. He kissed the top of Thorin’s head and nuzzled his sleep tangled hair.

There weren’t any words that would help right then, so Bilbo settled for humming. It was nothing like when Thorin hummed, but he hoped the familiar tune would help in some way. It was the same tune they’d hummed for all three of the boys and for each other many times over the years. It was a part of their relationship, their family, their life in general, at that point. Bilbo closed his eyes and leaned his cheek gently on Thorin’s head, wiggling his nose when an unruly strand of hair tickled his nose.

It took five minutes for Thorin to get himself under control. By then, Bilbo was beginning to shake under Thorin’s weight. The wet spot had grown to cover his whole chest and down his stomach, rendering his pajama shirt practically useless. Thorin straightened up and fell back on the bed. He scrubbed his face with both hands before dropping them limply into his lap. Bilbo’s heart clenched at the sight of him. He was always so strong, the rock that held them all together in hard times. But he couldn’t be strong like that without first breaking a little. Bilbo had seen it all before, too many times. His love was emotionally constipated, but he had his moments where the dam broke, where he let himself actually feel what he was feeling.

But now the moment was over, and Thorin was rebuilding the dam. Bilbo shrugged off his pajama shirt before the wet fabric could irritate him. Thorin’s eyes flickered up, pausing for two seconds as appreciation glimmered, before he looked back at his hands. Sitting next to him, Bilbo angled his body towards him. He put his hand on Thorin’s shoulder and when his husband didn’t pull or flinch away, he began stroking up and down his arm. He was tense, like he had been in the bathroom, but under Bilbo’s soft touch, his muscles shivered and relaxed a bit. Taking that as an encouraging sign, Bilbo leaned over. He kissed Thorin’s shoulder before resting his cheek against it.

After two more minutes, and Bilbo was absolutely not checking the clock to see how much time had passed, Thorin spoke. His voice was soft and hoarse, suffering the repercussions of his sobbing earlier, but it was clear. “I need to call the family.”

“Your father is handling it.” Bilbo said gently.

Thorin’s response was expected. “He shouldn’t be. It’s not his responsibility.”

“He disagrees.” Bilbo murmured and then repeated what Thrain had told him in a rushed hurry during their brief phone call. “It was his mother. He has no siblings and his father is not with us. It’s his responsibility to handle things. Let him do it.”

“It was his _mother_ , Bilbo,” Thorin whispered, tilting his head to look at Bilbo. His face was set in that stubborn expression Bilbo loved and loathed so much. “He should be grieving, not worrying about a funeral. I should…”

“If he wants your help, he will ask for it, Thorin.” Bilbo wasn’t as commanding or intimidating to look at as Thorin was, but when he used that voice, even Thorin knew it was time to shut up and listen. He ducked his head and sucked in his breath, hands clenching into fists. Bilbo put his free hand over one fist and forced it open. If Thorin really hadn’t wanted to open his hand, it wouldn’t have happened. But he needed the touch, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Fingers, smaller than his own, entwined with his and squeezed tight. “He said you were close to your grandmother. That it would hit you hard. He said nothing has to be decided right now, it can all wait a day or two. Take the time to grieve. That’s what he’ll be doing.”

“I…” Thorin sighed heavily and slumped sideways, towards Bilbo. The smaller man pushed back, so they met in the middle like two playing cards holding each other up. Thorin buried his face in the wild curls he loved and breathed in Bilbo’s sweet, flowery shampoo. It helped ground him, breaking through the haze of grief trying to overtake him again. Another deep inhale and he immediately felt better, able to breath a bit easier. He could feel Bilbo doing the same thing, nuzzling his skin and taking in the woodsy, outdoorsy scent of Thorin’s bodywash. “I don’t know how…”

Bilbo knew what he meant without him having to say it. He had grieved for so many people, but each time he still struggled to figure out how to handle it. He also knew from past experience, that talking helped him the most. He kissed Thorin’s skin then raised his hand to kiss his knuckles. “Tell me about her.”

Thorin snorted into his hair. “You knew her, Bilbo. You two shared recipes.”

“I meant, tell me stories about her. From your childhood.” Bilbo clarified after giving his arm a light pinch. Chuckling, Thorin pressed a kiss into Bilbo’s hair before leaning his cheek against his head. Staring at the blank bedroom wall, he quietly started the first story that came to mind, the time he had stolen his grandmother’s yarn and knitting needles to teach himself to make her a scarf. It had been a disaster and he’d ruined her yarn, but after that she’d taught him how to knit. A year later and he had finally made her a scarf for her birthday. Bilbo laughed at the end of the story, and that spurred Thorin to keep talking, his smile growing with each memory he recalled, even as the tears continued to flow.

**Author's Note:**

> I debated adding this to my Bagginshield Uncles series, cause I did write it with that series in mind, but it doesn't have anything to do with them being uncles so I'm not sure?


End file.
